Laws of Emroy
by Admiral Saris
Summary: A story of Fate and Destiny. Rory Mercury is not a stranger to fate, and now its inexorable pull has cast her as a witness to the strange warriors from another world and how their actions radically change her own.
1. Emroy's First Law

Laws of Emroy

 _"If your death is given to Emroy, then your life shall not have been in vain." – Laws of Emroy_

There are many gods. But Emroy is her god, her patron, and he is a manifold god. He is the god of darkness, the lord of midnight, and the master of shadows. He is the god of war, of battle, violence and slaughter. He is the sponsor of soldiers, criminals, and executioners, and caretaker of those who die in battle or meet violent ends. He was the lord of madness, and the benefactor of the insane. Sometimes she wondered if her life would be simpler if she was the apostle of a less diverse god.

Rory Mercury sat atop a lonely hill…waiting. "What do you think Lord Emroy? They say the Empire has marched a grand army to the holy gate at Almus. It was defeated, a hundred thousand men shattered, and even now the stragglers route and turn to banditry. What shall your apostle do? Shall I punish them for their failure? Hunt them to the last straggler who fled? Or shall I rally them under your black banner and lead them back to the front? Shall I turn my gaze to the soldiers who defeated them? Praise and acknowledge their prowess and valor for defeating the soldiers of the Empire? This humble apostle knows not your will, please great Emroy, give me a sign!"

Then she settled in to wait. Emroy always answered her in some fashion. Although gods didn't regard time the same way mortals or demigods did. He would give her an answer; she just had to be patient for it.

On the first day she was still. Silent. She could have made a statue jealous. On the second day she occasionally shifted her legs, drummed her fingers, and her eyebrow developed a notable twitch. On the fourth day she polished her axe twelve times. On the seventh day she murdered any bird that dared to land on the hilltop she'd claimed. On the eleventh day she screamed every foul word, curse, and insult she's learned in nine and a half centuries of life at Emory and his brass throne. By day sixteen she'd resorted to outright begging… but Emroy answered.

Not in words. No, Emroy of the thousand shadows was far too cruel to give her a straightforward answer. Her answer arrived in twos and threes as men slunk beneath her hill from the surrounding countryside. Soldiers have a certain look, it isn't the weapons and armor, but a certain discipline. A pride and confidence… something wolf like. These men wore armor, and carried weapons. They bore uniforms and had the look of men from the empire's various tributaries. There were men from Italica, Elbe, the League Principality, even the distant Alguna Kingdom, southern Toumaren, and even a man from the goblin lands far to the west. But these weren't soldiers. They were not wolves. These were dogs, wet and beaten. Their shoulders slumped, their uniforms and appearance ragged and unkempt, and they had a paranoid hunted look about them. A sickness of fear and terror had engulfed them, robbing them of martial discipline and leaving… wretched things. She was tempted to slay them immediately upon seeing them in such a state but curiosity stayed her hand.

Rory Mercury normally preferred being visible, she liked people to see her, to notice her, to recognize her. But sometimes stealth was useful. Sometimes an ounce of discretion and observation could provide more insight than a bucket full of violence or intimidation. So she wreathed herself in shadows, hiding from mortal eyes only steps away from the heart of their camp, and she listened.

She heard them whisper. Hushed voices speaking of the Gate and the dread armies that had appeared from the other side.

"It wasn't normal magecraft," one of the men said, "magecraft at least leaves a body to be buried. These green men shattered hills with their fire and thunder. Whole cohorts so mangled you couldn't find all the pieces. The blood ran like rivers down those hills."

"What do we do? We can't go back to Elbe."

"What happened to the king?"

"He died, during the night raid."

"Did you see him die?"

"No, it was dark until those sun spells started going off, then I couldn't see anything."

"I heard he was alive and his guards took him to Italica… he was pretty mangled though."

"No way he lived through that, he was right at the front, nobody on the front survived."

Having heard enough, Rory Mercury decided to leave. From the sound of it these men hadn't deserted per say... instead it seemed they survived the destruction of their entire command structure. Of course they'd flee. While Emroy demanded victory or death, Rory had walked the world long enough to understand that men were willing to risk their lives, but asking them to face certain death in battle was a challenge few men could answer without great cause… so as long as they avoided outright cowardice Rory would stay her hand. Moreover, she had never been a talented general, so while she could rally these survivors, she wasn't certain she could lead them to victory against these green men and their new magic. At least not until she knew more. She would travel to Almus and see these green men for herself.

"It seems the whole of Coda Village is on the run." A voice said, cutting through the idle chatter. The Apostle halted mid step, and began to walk back to the group. Shadows swirled to conceal her from the group.

"This is a good opportunity."

"Do we have enough men? There's only a few dozen of us."

"We can find more. There are over forty thousand stragglers and deserters between Almus and Italica."

"Get enough of them and we could take entire towns, maybe even become lords!"

"Ha! Wouldn't that be something! Imagine-" He did not finish his statement. Rory's Grand Grimcleaver decapitated him in a single swing. His comrades gasped in fright as the shadow wreathe fell from her, and his head rolled to his lap. She laughed.

"Gentlemen," She cooed, "Thank you very much for tonight. I am Rory Mercury, Apostle to the Dark God Emroy. Thank you so much for giving your lives so selflessly fighting at Almus. My father Emroy is very pleased, and he now requests your presence." Her Grimcleaver raised and she slew them. They shouted, begged, and pleaded. But she ignored them. While she was occasionally called Rory the Reaper, and perhaps she even deserved the title… she did not find the last words of dregs such as this terribly interesting.

"No, No, you must not run." She chastised chasing after the stragglers. "Find your courage, draw your blades, Fight! Slay me if you can, spill my lifeblood, prove your worth to Emroy!"

Emroy was the god of darkness, madness, and war. He was a god of battles, and war, and conflict. He did not consider murder a sin. Nor did Emroy cast judgement on any profession, even being a bandit. But Rory saw no glory in a band of soldiers turning to petty thuggery. Yes, better to grant them the mercy of a splendid death here, rather than have them dying on some farmer's pitchfork over a few copper coins.

While the would be bandits likely thought her blindingly fast, she held much of her speed and strength in reserve. If she'd wanted she could have killed them all in moments. But killing them wasn't enough; they deserved to die on their feet, blades in hand, a battlecry on their lips.

"Rejoice! Rejoice!" Rory cried, her axe cleaving a man in twain and sending his crimson blood fountaining into the air. "Emroy waits for you, beyond the sea of blood, on the mountain of bone, atop his throne of brass. Your brothers, all the warriors who came before you wait, they cry your name and bid you join them!"

Only one left. She swung a lazy swing, and he dodged. Twice, four times, seven. Each swing drawing closer and closer. After the eighth attack the soldier realized his impending doom… and embraced it. He gave up any pretense of defense, focusing all his efforts on one perfect strike. She stepped forward, into the blade, allowing herself to be impaled on the imperial steel, giving him one brief moment of triumph before sliding the sharpened tip of her grimcleaver into his throat.

"He-He-He-He-He!" She laughed as both her blood and his spilled, laughed as he fell to the ground, and laughed as he died. She ripped the sword from her midriff. "Beautiful! Splendid! A perfect end! Everyone should die as well!"

Slowly she reached down, and closed the man's eyes. Then she gathered her axe, her grand grimcleaver. Her wound already closing, and ravens already circling. It was time to leave this place.

* * *

When people talked about demigods, they often spoke of their overwhelming power. The sheer disparity in strength and speed was incredibly easy to notice. Rory could lift thousands of pounds, shatter rock, and leap higher than a building. She could dash faster than a horse could run, go days without sleep or eating, she was so graceful she could walk across a clothesline, so dexterous she could juggle a score of balls if the mood struck her. But because the physical differences were so obvious, people rarely bothered to look at the other, less readily apparent advantages that came with being a demi-god.

Most humans, even without paying attention, tended to be aware of things within a few yards of them. That is, unless something was incredibly tiny or actively hiding, most people were aware of pretty much everything happening within a couple of yards. For instance, it is no great skill to notice how many people are in a room. Even if you are reading a book, or watching television, you still possess a vague awareness of people entering or leaving the room. And this was just passive perception. People could focus, notice things far beyond their immediate surroundings. Rory extended that passive range to over a dozen yards, easily hearing conversations in neighboring rooms or buildings…and she could focus her enhanced senses to notice things from a _long_ way out.

There in the distance, still miles away, a caravan of wagons lumbered through the hills, moving at a snail's pace. Normally something Rory would avoid. Hers was not a god of beggers, refugees, and suffering families. However three strange vehicles at the front of the caravan drew her gaze. Iron, lacking any type of beast or sail to move it… now that was something interesting. Not unique, she'd seen bizarre magical war machines before, but in context definitely interesting. Who would waste three rare and powerful constructs guiding a group of peasants evacuating from a village out in the boonies? She could have run the distance, arriving at the front of the caravan in minutes. But she settled down to wait and watch, She wanted to see these war machines, and observe what was happening before they realized she was there.

They moved no faster than the horse drawn wagons, and it took nearly an hour and a half for the caravan to reach her position. Two men emerged from the vehicles and approached her.

"You must be the Green Men," Rory Mercury said, admiring their strange green garb and bizarre weapons. They had the handles and triggers of crossbows, but lacked the cord to propel an arrow. A rather curious sort of weapon. She'd always been of two minds on crossbows. Useful weapons for peasants or conscripts, they were easy to learn and a well-placed shot could pierce even a heavy breastplate. But the sheer time it took to reload and the difficulty in the manufacture often made them seem lackluster compared to bows in the hands of better trained fighters.

The two men began to speak, a strange language, vastly different from the score of languages she already knew. It wasn't the guttural and rough languages of the west, nor the rapid staccato languages of the east, and it bore no resemblance to the common Imperial Tongue that she could detect. The two gestured wildly, trying to convey some message. Some demigods had a gift for languages and could decipher new languages from only hearing a handful of phrases. Rory had never acquired that particular knack, and felt no real regret at not understanding the green men. Her eyes turned to the masses of the convoy. Just because she couldn't understand them didn't mean there wasn't someone here who could translate for her. She moved past the two green men and headed to the first vehicle in convoy.

"It's an Apostle!" A child cried in glee as a half dozen spilled out of the strange iron vehicle to race up the street to meet her. Rory smiled. She was fond of children. They had a hardiness to them that often far surpassed the adults around them. Even now, destitute and homeless, fleeing down a road bound for destinations unknown, they could find joy and play games.

"Hello children," she said, "now what do we have here? Who are these strange people?"

"They're really nice!" One child exclaimed.

"They warned us about the Dragon!"

"They're letting us ride in their metal carts!"

"Oh?" Rory said, effortlessly deciphering the group of children all taking over each other. "So they aren't holding you hear against your will?" Not that she had a problem with soldiers forcing peasants to do things, but the fact that they weren't dragging this group to slavery or some kind of labor camp was interesting.

She didn't pay much attention to their response. Their faces told enough. There was no fear here. No pain or suffering. They didn't feel any sort of duress around the green men.

"You say the iron cart is really comfortable?" She asked approaching the window. A green man looked out and started to speak his gibberish.

She froze, eyes wide in shock and surprise. His face was plain, ultimately forgettable. But… there was a magic about him. Not the paltry magics of mortals. Throwing balls of fire or levitating carts. No this was a primal sort of magic. A thing of Fate, of Destiny itself. This man had a role to play, somehow this simple man in green was going fulfill some monumental role in the fate of the world. More importantly she could see the string of her own future tying around his. Her fate, intertwined with his until his task was complete. This… is not what she wanted.

Somewhere far, far away, she thought she could hear Emroy laughing.

* * *

AN:

A strange beginning. Laws of Emroy is a story that largely focuses on an area that I feel Gate often leaves lacking. On the gods, demigods, and how they react to the JSDF's arrival, and the religious, spiritual, and metaphysical differences between the two worlds. Given the lack of information we have so far on this part of Gate's world, this story will likely veer quickly into an Alternate Universe.

Rory Mercury is going to be the protagonist for the vast majority of this story; while she is an important character in the Anime and Manga… she's also something of an outsider. Everyone knows she's super powerful, but she provides very few answers to questions about the world and never really tries to influence events other than occasionally helping the party kill things. Oddly enough despite being one of the four main characters you could remove her entirely from the manga or anime without changing any major plot point. Yes the party has a harder time killing things but none of the major decisions the group makes is changed by her absence… and I don't think that's fair.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and I look forward to doing more soon.

Oh, sorry, I almost forgot: Grand Grimcleaver: Years ago white wolf publishing released a game called exalted. This tabletop rpg was based (basically) on the concept of playing a demigod in a fantasy world. With a full array of bizarre and over the top powers and vastly oversized magical weapons and armor. Rather than call Rory's weapon a big axe, I decided to use the exalted name.


	2. Emroy's Second Law

Laws of Emroy

" _Little is known of the early life of Rory, Apostle of Emroy. No reliable records can be found of the time she spent in her birthlands, the haunted marshes and forests of dread Scythia. A land north of our fair empire, lying between the Inland Sea and the Mountains of Snow and Ice. Our first accounts begin after her ascension into the service of Emroy, when she traveled to the far lands of Asgard, Vanaheim, and Svartalfheim." – Imperial Record of Apostles_

 _Imperial Year -245, Far North, Vanaheim_

Winter was not a time to be outdoors in Vanaheim, the wild lands of the Vanir. The chill alone would freeze the sap of trees and tear the bark from trees. Snow could pile high enough to bury entire homes. The boundless river Elivagar turning to ice for the entire season. Flurries of ice could fall at any time, shredding the unwary. But the cold did not stop Rory Mercury.

Oh it tried. The cold stabbed her lungs with every breath, bringing a fresh agony her regeneration did nothing to stop. She'd lost a boot in some animal trap, a hole in the ground lined with downward facing spikes. She'd had no patience for digging her leg out and simply ripped the limb through the spike. Her self-healing fixed her flesh but did nothing for her footwear. With each step in the snow a sting of cold pierced her leg.

But something greater than a fear of cold motivated her now. A burning in her loins drove her forward with a base animalistic desire that a mere mortal could never comprehend. She'd been in her small hut, miles from the village, when the pangs had started. A tremble in her thighs, a moan in her throat, a weakness in her knees. She'd tried to resist, tried to focus past the urges, but they'd been too much. Violence was in the air, blood had been spilled, and it drew her like a shark, satisfying a vile instinct that shattered her will and self-control anytime it surged forth. Smoke billowed from the village she'd called home for the last three years, but she didn't need to follow the smoldering cloud. It was a paltry signal compared to the myriad of carnal sensations that seemed to redouble with every step closer to the conflict.

She could hear the screams now. Screams… and shadows illuminated by burning homes. Figures with swords, mere silhouettes between the dusk and fire, danced among the dying village. Rory Mercury gave a scream of her own, a very different kind of scream to the terror filled shouts of the villagers, and raced into the village.

She came upon one of the dwarven reavers who'd found something other than fighting and arson to occupy him. He held one of the village girls down, and was so engrossed in her violation that he was completely oblivious to everything around him. He'd even dropped his sword to pay more attention to the woman. Rory picked it up, and buried it in his soft unprotected flesh. He screamed. He screamed at her to stop. She didn't. She hacked him again and again, slamming the sword into his back over and over, unable to stop.

"Rory!" The woman shouted. If Rory had her wits about her she'd have recognized the woman as Yola, a friend, and one of the village goodwives. "He's dead! Stop!" Rory didn't stop. She hacked the sword into Yola with the same savage desperation that she'd used on the rapist. Then, she ran to find more.

She slew all she came across. Wild red haired reavers from the dwarven clans, the golden blond men of the Vanir village. Gentle women and goodwives. Any child who dared come out of hiding. None were safe.

She had no skill with a blade. But she was swift. Faster than a winter breeze. Strong enough to splinter an oaken shield with each swing. She took her share of hits. An arrow pierced her knee. An axe hacked into her shoulder. A backhand shattered her jaw. But nothing slowed her. Her wounds knitting near as soon as she took them.

Until she found the leader of the reavers. He was large, broad across his shoulders, with a shirt of iron and a horned helmet. Twin axes gripped in his hands, and an untamed beard decorating his face. He matched her speed and savage strength with pure skill. Parrying her unrestrained attacks and slowly giving ground. Until he struck. One swing. One precise, accurate swing. It sent her head rolling across the village and left her body dead at his feet.

But he didn't finish the job. He celebrated, cheered, raised his axes and bellowed in triumph. He didn't see her head begin to roll back to her body. He didn't see her eyes snap open when it reattached. He didn't see her rise… He did feel the sword that she rammed through his spine, and as he died he heard her give a scream of release that echoed clear to the dark realm of Emroy.

* * *

" _If resorting to violence didn't solve the problem, you failed to resort to enough of it." –Laws of Emroy_

 _Today, Aprilis 06 Imperial Year 687, East of Alnus_

Rory Mercury sat on his lap. It was silly. Stupid even. But she wanted to study this man that Fate had bound her to and the easiest way understand someone was to pull them out of their comfort zone and see how they behaved. She gave a grinding squirm.

'Well,' she thought, turning a mischievous smile toward him, 'what will you do now Green Man?' Would he freeze up, bounce her on his knee like she was a little girl, fondle her, or push her up and go for a… wilder sort of contact regardless of the children and his fellow soldiers watching. Barbarians often had little modesty about copulating in front of others.

Naturally he did the one thing she wasn't expecting. He shoved her off his lap. Sending her sprawling between the two forward seats in the vehicle. For a moment she was too surprised to be angry. Then it hit her. He'd dropped her like a discarded whore, like she was beneath his interest, not worth his time. No man had ever dismissed her in such a fashion. No man had _dared_. She turned, rage building, ready to punt him halfway to the moon, before she froze. She didn't have a lot of options here. She couldn't attack him, not directly. He was an unwitting agent of Fate, and worse she was somehow intertwined in his life. If she attacked him, she could break that destiny, and the backlash from Fate would be… unpleasant. Likewise attacking any of his fellow soldiers would probably only make him resent her.

It would be easier if she had a timeframe to work with. But she didn't know if the event he was fated for would happen tomorrow, next week, next year, or even decades down the line. Since the chronomancy of their entwined destiny was unknown to her, any action that made this Green Man less willing to tolerate her presence was not good. Still, there was her pride to consider. So Rory did the only thing she could.

She sat on his lap again. They squabbled, gently shoving each other back and forth before he gave in and let her have part of the seat.

"Do any of you know this man's name?" She asked, looking back at the passengers in the rear of the vehicle. A chorus of denials and shaking heads caused her to sigh. "I suppose that would have been too easy. Also, what happened to the elf?"

"I know!" One of the children said, a small boy of perhaps seven or eight. "She was hurt when the Fire Dragon burned her village."

"Was she now?" Rory asked, "did you know her?"

Another chorus of denials.

"She looks like she's really nice though." A girl of around thirteen said.

"I wonder about that." Rory muttered as she looked at the unconscious elf. It was subtle, but the girl had an aura of mental instability. A touch of madness. Emroy was the god of insanity, and Rory had a soft spot in her heart for the mentally addled.

"I don't suppose you know what's wrong with her?" She asked her Green Man. He babbled something in his peculiar language, and reached his hand up to fiddle with the bow on her head. Men had died for less. But she stayed her hand. The things she did for Fate.

While the vehicle was comfortable, especially compared to a wooden cart, the trip was ultimately quite boring. No one in the caravan was performing any sort of violence, so beyond a couple tings of domestic arguments she wasn't getting much entertainment. Nor could she talk to anyone beyond the group of children. Truly the language gap was galling. Especially given how desperately she wanted to talk to the man sharing her seat.

"Apostle, will you tell us a story?" The boy asked.

"Hmmm," Rory hummed, "I think you might be a little young. Are you old enough to hear a war story?"

"I am!" the boy said, the gaggle of children all saying they were big enough.

"You won't get scared?" She asked.

"We won't!" They chorused.

"Are you sure?" She teased.

"We are!"

"Then, I suppose… I think I'll tell you a story." Rory smiled. She was no historian, but she knew how to tell a story. With hand gestures, dramatic intonation, and the appropriate amount of…grandeur.

"A story about Warrior Bunnies, the Empire, and Prince Zorzal Em Caesar. In the East, past Thracia, beyond shining Byzantium, and farther than the crypts and tombs of Cappadocia, is the Grasslands of Head Hunting Rabbits, home of the Warrior Bunnies. Since time before time, they have fought among themselves, raiding each other on the endless ocean of grass. Yet, only five years ago, Tyuule began a war of conquest. Unifying the thousand tiny tribes and forging them into the greatest army of the east. Such war her army raged, such havoc! The Warrior Bunnies ran wild across the farmlands and towns. The Kingdoms of Pontus and Bith put to the swords, their women slaughtered, their men taken as trophies and prizes, their cities burned, the fields left fallow.

King Datames of Cappadocia, seeing Tyuule's bloodlust and greed did send a plea of aid to the Emperor. They say Emperor Augustus wept tears of blood upon hearing that the civilized kingdoms of men in the east, all loyal tributaries of the Empire, were so besieged. He summoned forth his eldest son Prince Zorzal Em Caesar and commanded him to go forth, past the spidery hills of Thracia, beyond the shining walls of Byzantium, farther even than the necropoli of Cappadocia, but all the way to the Grasslands, and to bring him the head of Tyuule, Queen of the warrior bunnies. Zorzal, a loyal prince of the Empire, bent the knee and swore by his lineage to bring her back dead or in chains.

But brave Zorzal could not go straight away. He needed to raise an army. Five Legions were summoned, loyal sons from across the Empire, fifty thousand men. He needed magic. So wandering wizards, learned apprentices, and great sages were commissioned to aid his army. He needed dragons and monsters. Deals and promises were made to the beastmaster's guild. He needed to consult the Gods. Thus great auguries were cast and omens studied, to make certain that this war was the will of heaven. Priests of Duncan, Palapon, and Zufmuut agreed to join his muster. Yet Zorzal knew he could not march to war without the approval Emroy. So alone he journeyed to the temple of the bloody handed god of slaying. He demanded our patronage, for he knew that Emroy only helps the strong, and had he come meekly he would have been turned down. But it was not any mere priest who he met, but me, Rory the Reaper, Apostle of Emroy.

'Begone,' I said to him, 'Emroy has no time for vain princes and phony wars.'

'Five full legions ride east with me' Zorzal said, 'to fight a foe beyond number.'

'What will you do?' I asked, 'How will you fight this foe beyond counting?'

'I'll show them no mercy,' his majesty told me, 'I'll slay them all. I'll poison wells. I'll salt their fields. I'll burn their towns. I'll build mountains of their skulls, I'll drag the defeated, the cowards, and the children back in chains to serve the Empire.'

'You'll slay them all?' I asked.

'When I'm done,' he promised, 'the threat of the warrior bunnies will be ended for all time.'

So I joined his army and gave him the blessing of Emroy. Less than a month since Prince Zorzal received the order he began his march east. Five Legions at his back, a cabal of wizards, a host of dragon riders, the brothers and nuns of Duncan, Palapon, and Zufmut, and the Apostle of Emroy at his side. We marched overland down the east Imperial Road. Marched past the spidery hills of Thrace, marched beyond the shining walls of Byzantium, marched over the burial mounds of Cappadocia, and entered the evergreen fields of the Warrior Bunnies. Our ranks had swelled. Brave sons of ruined Bith and Pontus took up their banners, heroes of Thrace followed the beat of our war drums, three legions of Byzantium honored ancient oaths and joined our flock, and even pale Cappadocian men emerged from haunted catacombs to face the loathsome threat of Tyuule.

For over a year we fought across the grasslands. Though her host was beyond number the rabbit queen had divided it in two, to better finish looting Bith and Pontus. The full might of the Empire and her allies fell on the warrior bunnies in Bith. They were fat and ruined on plunder, they were unprepared for our unstoppable legions. True to his word, Zorzal ear-taker cut the heads of any warrior bunny that did not surrender and put the rest in chains to suffer for their crimes. But even those in chains were not spared; he had the tips of their ears cut off. A mark of their shame and cowardice to all who saw them. Still, everything did not go our way. In his zeal to honor his oaths to Emroy Zorzal's army moved slowly, making certain no Warrior Bunny was left to terrorize the people of Bith. This gave Tyuule time to rally her armies.

Our armies met on the fields and hills of Kayseri. Rain poured so thick and heavy you could barely see the man next to you. The ground turned to a muddy soup. The legendary arrows of her bunnies were useless and in her wrath Tyuule ordered her masses forward. Seven times did the wild warrior bunnies crash against the shieldwalls and spears of the legion. Seven times they retreated. In the sky dragons and gryphons dueled, their bodies falling and smashing any unfortunate enough to be underneath them. Thunder lizards and lesser giants clashed, crunching petty infantry beneath their feet and clubs. But the crux of the battle came when Queen Tyuule managed to force an opening between our legions. She led a charge of her honor guard, the bunny warrior elite to try and force the gap and turn our lines. But Prince Zorzal saw the opening and led his knights in a countercharge! The two met in a duel that would decide the fate of the battle, the fate of the east! But Tyuule could not bring herself to face his majesty, the coward fell to her knees, begging for mercy. But Prince Zorzal had none to give. He had her locked in chains, and with their Queen so humiliated the Warrior Bunnies broke and fled. Our army did chase them to their hiding holes, making safe the east… for now."

Rory smiled as the children began to play act parts of the story. Of course the tale wasn't the whole truth, but since when did you need truth for a good story?

Rory turned her head and looked out the window. She heard…something. The vehicle made a cacophony, but there was something… cackling fire? Of course she couldn't see anything from the window.

Her Green Man seemed to have the same idea, craning his head and looking out the window. Then he started yelling in his Hardy forsaken tongue, and the vehicle swerved.

A Flame Dragon descended, its fire billowing forth. Wagons and refugees slain for the dragon's amusement. Or perhaps its dinner? Though Rory thought they'd probably be charred too badly to be food for anything. Rory gave a sigh. Not much they'd be able to do about a Flame Dragon with only a dozen or so soldiers. Even if she charged out, the wretched Lizard would just take to the air. If he had an ounce of sense the Green Man was currently ordering the caravan to disperse, scattering every which way to limit the amount of people and goods the dragon would kill and destroy.

The vehicle spun, children screamed and fell over. The elf's unconscious body slid across the floor, and only Rory's supernatural agility and balance kept her from being thrown from the seat. She hadn't expected the vehicle to be so fast.

"Idiot!" She yelled at her Green Man, "You're going the wrong way! That dragon will roast your metal carriage and barbeque us alive!

"Get down!" he shouted something incomprehensible at her, but when he shoved her off his lap and brought his strange crossbow up, she got the message. He intended to fight. He leaned out the window, and his weapon shrieked as he shot his fire bolts at the Dragon. Rory smiled, a savage grin that promised blood and death. Well, if her fated soldier was reckless enough to charge a Flame Dragon, who was she to deny him? The barking noise from her soldier's weapon stopped and he started fiddling with it, removing some part.

"Out of the way elf!" Rory scrambled to the back of the vehicle, shoved aside the freshly conscious elf, grabbed her grimcleaver, and leapt out, flipping to land atop the roof. The three vehicles circled the dragon. They were fast, faster than horses, and they kept their distance from the beast. The Dragon's head moved back and forth, trying to see everything with its lone working eye. Green Men and even a Green Woman were firing their shrieking weapons that sparked like fire. She could see the tiny crossbow bolts fly through the air, stinging the great beast. She gave her polearm a twirl. This could be good. Below, her soldier finished adjusting his weapon and began to fire once more.

"You aren't hurting it!" She yelled pointlessly at her soldier, "If you get closer I might be able to crack its scales enough for your tiny bolt throwers to kill it!"

"Eyeball! Eyeball!" The elf shouted below, the children mewled and cried in fear, and the soldiers spoke back and forth in their own tongue.

One of the soldiers on another vehicle raised… a giant metal cock… Rory's eyes bulged a bit. The man wielding the phallic weapon, turned to look behind him, then the head of the weapon spurted forward! The Dragon leaned, moving itself out of the way.

"No you don't!" Rory shouted, "If you make a man fire his only shot, you take it in the face like everyone else!" Rory stepped forward, hurling her polearm. Not toward the dragon, but at its feet. It was the problem with monstrous creatures, giants, greater minotaurs, thunder lizards, they were so heavy that any major change to their balance would cause them to fall.

Her axe flew, faster than the… projectile smashing into the ground, shattering rock and splintering earth. The dragon stumbled.

It roared in agony as an explosion engulfed its arm. It took to the air, and for a moment hovered there… deciding. Then it left. Rory smiled, and looked down at her soldier. Perhaps being his partner for a while wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

AN:

Young Rory: Rory is the oldest character in Gate and while we meet several other…vintage characters I don't really feel that they compare. For instance Tuka is almost two hundred years old, but from the bits we've seen I don't believe she ever really left her home town until post Fire Dragon. But Rory is world renowned, a figure of legend, mythology, and even more recent Imperial History. She's _lived_. Had adventures, been a hero and a villain, and I'd like to explore her background in this fic. Write about stories when her powers were both weaker and less under her control. Fortunately/Unfortunately since Rory's background is almost entirely a blank slate in canon I'm basically going to invent a backstory for her.

Zorzal Em Caesar: In canon his name is Zorzal El Caesar. In Gate middle names are, sometimes, used to reference a patron god. On the other hand some people, like Zorzal or Pina, have names that don't seem to match the 12 main deities of the Empire. This means either they 1) just have a random middle name, 2) serve a lesser or foreign deity, an apostle, or perhaps something else entirely. I decided to make Zorzal regard Emroy as his patron… because honestly chaotic evil is kind of Emroy's turf. Plus having the most prominent follower of Emroy be one of the main Antagonists of the series does a lot for Rory and her relationship with her "friends".

The Empire-Bunny War: While we know it happened, we don't really have a lot of canonical clues about why. It's implied the empire just wanted more slaves… but looking at the map that's a long ass way to go for slaves when there are plenty of closer tributaries. But like a lot of things in Gate, we just don't have enough information. The story here is Rory's (rather obviously embellished) version of what happened. It is not meant to be a literal and factual account of the war, but rather a good story loosely based on the events... sadly her version is probably close the version that most Empire citizens know, giving them a very slanted view of Warrior Bunnies and painting themselves as the 'good guys' for fighting in the war.


	3. Emroy's Third Law

" _Obviously the only rational solution to your problem is to kill everyone." – Laws of Emroy_

 _Aprilis 09, Imperial Year 687, Alnus_

Rory Mercury left the small refugee camp. She didn't journey far, but sometimes mortals could be aggravating and the last few days had been particularly frustrating. Most of those who'd taken refuge at Alnus were children, and Rory had never been particularly skilled at being mothering. Tell a story, no problem, babysit for an afternoon, sure, but bathing, cleaning, feeding, and caring for a half dozen children for more than an few hours was completely outside her comfort zone. She just needed a few minutes to clear her head and calm down. Apparently she wasn't the only one. An old man lay upon the ground, his wizard hat pulled down to cover his face.

"Old man Kato," Rory greeted. "Did you need to get away for a little while?"

"Your grace!" He said in surprise, siting up and adjusting his hat. She waved him to stay seated; her ego wasn't so grand that she needed an old man to fawn over her. "I needed a few minutes to think, these JSDF have so many strange things."

"The language barrier is a little annoying." Rory complained, taking a seat next to the old sage. "I've learned a bit, but I really can't say much more than 'hello' and 'goodbye'. It doesn't help that they get uncomfortable when I try to follow Itami around their fort."

"Itami? Lelei mentioned him, he's the _centurion_ of the soldiers that rescued us isn't he?"

" _Lieutenant."_ Rory corrected him, tasting the foreign rank. "I don't think the rank compares. I think he's more like a _decurion_. They just use their war machines instead of horses."

"Well, rank aside," the old sage began, "do you mind if I ask why you've decided to pay so much attention to one soldier?"

"He-he-he, you could say he has an air of destiny." Rory said with a slight smile. It was relaxing, spending time with old souls; it made her feel… more like she was with her peers.

"An air of destiny?" He gave her a strange look, raising a hand to stroke his beard. "Hm… In my experience I've found prophecy to be a rather unprofitable profession. But I suppose gods have a better handle on it than a washed up old wizard."

"What is your profession exactly?" Rory teased, "All I've seen you do is sit around and smoke your pipe."

"I suppose it could look that way to those unfamiliar with the arts of wizardry."

"He-he-he." Rory giggled. "And if I was unfamiliar with wizardry?"

"Then I suppose you'd say I've divided the labor. I've set my apprentice Lelei to work with their language. She's a practical sort of wizard, give her another week or two and she'll be jabbering in their tongue like she was born to it. While I've had her taking care of the immediate details I've been making a bit of a study of their constructs. I took a whiff of the smoke they create. I'm fairly certain the stench is burning naptha. I've done some pondering, but when things settle down I'd like to sit down with a metallurgist and an alchemist to do some brainstorming. I've even managed to sneak a peek at a few of their weapons. The principle seems simple enough, take a blasting powder and use it to fire a small piece of metal out a tube. "

"Oh," Rory asked with a sly smile on her face. "Are you claiming you can build their war machines and weapons?"

"Ha!" The old man barked out a laugh. "Definitely not the vehicles. I've no idea how the wheels and tracks work, and my ideas about how the naptha is used are rough at best. But the weapons are just a matter of trial and error. Anything we can make will be incredibly crude compared to the Japanese equivalent, but it'll be the same kind of weapon, a _firearm_."

"Hm, I think that'll make the next few years exciting." Rory mused.

"Well, it'll be a nice retirement project for me." Kato said, fiddling with his pipe. Rory left him too it, and for a time the two sat in comfortable silence.

"I understand that Emroy is the God of Madness?" Kato asked suddenly breaking the tranquil moment.

"He is." Rory said, "The God of Madness, the Harbinger of Insanity, and the Fell Lord of Irrationality." She turned her head to look at him. His probing question was innocent, but there was only one logical topic he wanted to talk about with an opening like that. "Is this about Tuka?"

"Yeah," The old man said, "She's requested extra food, men's clothes, and an extra room. Most evenings she loses focus and starts to wander around looking for her father. It's not really my business, but… well; I'm asking if you can fix her."

"You say that like madness is a switch. Something that can just be flipped on or off. Madness is the ocean where all minds swim… the only question is how deep below the surface they go."

"I remember reading that madness ties into the phases of the moon, and that Jagdi the previous Apostle of Emroy had the ability to cure or cause it with a mere touch." He said that with the tense air of a man prodding a bull and knowing he could end by being impaled on its horns.

Rory settled a glare on him and he flinched back. She sighed and let her gaze return to the heavens. "Healing the mind isn't a skill I have. My talents lay elsewhere." She didn't say what she was good at. He _knew_. Everyone _knew_. Rory the Reaper, demigoddess of slaughter and battlefields. She killed people… people like old wizards who pressed too hard.

"Well, if we can't help her," the old man said with only slight tremor of fear in his voice, "what do we do?"

"Do?" Rory demanded, causing the old man to sink in on himself, "why do we need to do anything? She's just delusional, she believes something that isn't true, she isn't running around murdering children, or stealing everything she can get her hands on. She isn't dangerous, just…"

"If your grace doesn't think anything needs to be done, then I'm fine letting things stay as they are." The old man rose with a grimace, "ah, the joys of old age, when standing becomes a chore. I fear I'd best get back to the refugee camp or my cute little apprentice will get worried. Good evening your grace."

Rory said nothing as the old man walked back toward the camp. She hadn't come out here to frighten an old man, or defend the elf girl, but she'd let her temper get the better of her. She wasn't even sure why she bothered to defend the girl. She didn't even like Tuka. The blond elf was 165 years old and managed to be the least interesting person in the entire refugee camp. Actually if the girl hadn't been crazy Rory probably wouldn't even have bothered to learn her name.

Still her blood was up. She wouldn't be able to relax now. "Stupid old man, stupid elf, stupid soldiers, stupid Itami." What was she doing? She was Rory Mercury, Apostle to Emroy, Demigod. She'd done enough of this playing around, taking care of children, waiting like some stupid damsel in distress for everyone else to figure out the language problem. That wasn't how she did things. She met her problems head on, grimcleaver in hand, and killed them dead. This wasn't any different. She'd go to Itami right now and make it painfully clear that she was going to stick with him until he finished whatever task Fate had in store for him, and if he or his soldier friends didn't like it they could deal with it.

It had taken her almost half an hour to walk out this far. But she wasn't walking now, she ran as only a demi-god could. She blurred past old man Cato, a shadowy gust of wind that nearly bowled him over. When she saw the fence, she leapt, a distance that would have cleared a baseball field, she landed on the metal wire fence. A mortal of her size would have become entangled in the spiked curled wire that ran along the top of the fence. But like all demigods her weight was somewhat… situational. When she leapt on the attack or wanted to make an impact she and her grimcleaver became heavy, crushing men or shattering stone. Yet when she just need to move, she became light, light enough to walk across a clothesline or float on a leaf down a river. So like a hummingbird taking a perch, the metal barely stirred when she landed. Nor did it move when she leapt off, landing inside the inner stone wall of the star shaped fort.

"By Emroy's smoking heart where is he?" Rory cursed. Jumping to the rooftops she scoured the base, her divine vision pierced the darkness with no trouble and she easily spotted nearly all the soldiers she knew by name.

There was old man Kuwahara playing a game of some sort with another soldier with white and black pebbles.

There was Katsumoto, who had used the Rod of Steel to wound the Flame Dragon. He was doing something to one of the JSDF vehicles. Wiping it down with a bucket of water?

Yanagida, another _Lieutenant,_ was behind one of the tinted windows of the headquarters building, he probably thought he couldn't be seen but her eyes pierced the tint. Paperwork full of the strange symbols of their writing covered his desk.

But she couldn't find the one soldier she absolutely wanted to find. The one she needed to find. It was infuriating. She snapped her gaze back and forth across the ground and every building she could see. He wasn't at the gate. He wasn't by the mess hall. He wasn't in the headquarters building, he wasn't in the armory, he wasn't in one of their bizarre vehicles, he wasn'tinhisroomhewasn'twalkingaroundhewasn't-

"Hey Rory." Itami said from behind her.

"Ymir!" She cursed in surprise, invoking the name of the northern god of winter and cold. She spun around, staring at the man. He sat in a corner of the rooftop, and after his greeting he returned his attention to the picture book in his lap. She'd been so focused on the ground and buildings she hadn't paid enough attention to the rooftops she'd been hopping around.

"I found you!" She snarled. She stormed over to him, her steps leaving faint cracks in the roof. "Now I've been patient but it's my turn to talk and you're going to listen. You've been chosen by Heaven to complete a grand task. You're an agent of Fate, and I'm bound to you until you finish. Understand, I'm Rory the Reaper! Apostle of Emroy. I'm not some junior priestess or some wild eyed flagellant. I'm a demi-goddess and I'm done sitting in a refugee camp waiting for you to get your act together and learn how to speak. I'm going to stick by you until your appointed task is done and there is nothing you can do to shake me! I'll follow you to the ends of creation and there's nothing you or your JSDF can do about it."

She panted from the raw emotion she'd vented in her spiel. She'd even gotten through to Itami. The strange man had lowered his book and was looking at her with oddly focused eyes. She nodded to herself, good, he may not have understood every word, but he seemed to grasp the gist of it.

"Hey Rory." Itami said returning his gaze to his book.

Rory Mercury cursed to heaven. Swore vile oaths to her dark god. Blasphemed so profane that her tongue bled and the paint on the roof pealed, until finally she devolved into a wordless scream of frustration and rage.

Itami patted her head and murmured something in his never sufficiently damned language. It did nothing to stop her scream.

* * *

AN:

This one's a little short, but I think it does what I needed it too. Next chapter will definitely be longer, I'm hoping to do the entire Italica arc in one or two chapters.

Anyway, See you soon.

Ranks:

I wanted to show some confusion between roman ranks and modern military organization, so I included the conversation at the beginning. I admit its minutia since Centurions, Lieutenants, and Decurion are all Junior Officer Ranks, but it's something that never came up in the manga or anime.

Centurion is a roman rank, referring to an infantry officer who commands around 100 men.

Decurion is a cavalry officer who commands a group of 30 or so cavalrymen.


	4. Emroy's Fourth Law

" _Friendly fire isn't very friendly." – Laws of Emroy_

 _Alnus, Today, Aprilis 23_

One moment everything in Leilei's world was perfectly fine, and in an instant she realized her very life was hanging by a thread and she absolutely did not want to be in the room Lieutenant Yanagida led her to. It wasn't the rooms fault. It was a pleasant sort of room. The very comfortable furniture would have sold for a princely sum back in the Empire. Even the table was immaculate. Of course they were quite plain but she'd seen enough work by Japanese craftsmen to realize they found beauty in simplicity. Most furniture or even their weapons lacked the detail, embroidery, or sheer embellishment any Imperial artisan would put into their work. But then, there was a sublime… perfection to most Japanese works that trumped showmanship. 'Here I am,' one of the two couches seemed to say, 'I may not glimmer, and I may not shine, but no lesser couch shall ever be more of a couch than I'. And if it could have said that line, it would have been right. No Imperial couch could match the comfort, the sheer ability to bring relaxation to those who sat upon it. No it wasn't the rooms fault.

Nor was it the fault of Lieutenant Yanagida who had asked her to help him translate. He was different than the other Japanese she'd met. Yanagida was a touch… dangerous. In a lot of ways he reminded her of talented young nobleman. Ambitious, talented, eager… and just a touch ruthless. So different to people like Itami, who was so soft spoken and kind, and had the airs of being a farmer's son; or Kurokawa who felt like a priestess of Zufmuut, with a warm, stable disposition that made everything around her feel safe and secure. But even though Yanagida was not a particularly caring person, he was polite, and Lelei didn't object to working with him even if he made it subtly clear that she was his inferior.

The reason for her sudden spike of dread lay on one of the couches, black clerical vestments already freshly repaired from the battle in Italica, and one of her feet tapping in the air to some unheard song. An axe too large for any mortal was propped against the couch, somehow merrily ignoring the fact that it should have been heavy enough to crush through both the couch and probably the floor. Rory Mercury, apostle of Emroy, emissary of darkness, violence, and war scared the unholy bejeezus out of her and she wasn't ashamed to admit it. Oh, the demigoddess was all smiles and quick to please around Itami and she even seemed to hold a certain kindness for some of the refugee children, but it didn't fool Leilei. Rory Mercury's smile was a wolf's smile, a predators smile, and no amount of nice words could hide the fact that she'd killed more people than most plagues could claim.

"Lieutenant Yanagida, you should ask Lieutenant Itami to be here for this," Leilei urged in Japanese, "she'll be much more cooperative if he's here."

"I assure you I'm more than capable of interviewing a priestess." Yanagida said, his eyes narrowing. For a moment Lelei was confused, her brain racing as the Lieutenant all but scowled at her. Yanagida and Itami were friends from everything she'd seen so why would he be so hostile over asking Itami- oh. He was jealous. Itami who'd fought off a fame dragon and captured a princess. Of course an ambitious sort like Yanagida wouldn't want Itami here. Like any young noble he needed to prove his worth and earn his own glory… the overbred ignoramus was going to get her killed for his ego.

"No, I'm sorry," Leilei rushed, desperately trying to soothe his pride and get him to summon Itami. "It isn't you, it doesn't matter who asks questions, she'll just be-" Leilei paused as she stumbled over the translation for 'less like to get angry and render us into separate limbs and organs using a giant axe that can cleave through a castle wall'. "she'll be… more good? Nice in a good way? If he's here." Leilei squirmed, she knew she wasn't accurately conveying how merely putting Itami in the room would change this from a delicate and life threatening procedure into a simple conversation.

"I'm sure we'll manage," Yanagida said rolling his eyes and taking a seat opposite Rory. Leilei sighed, and sat down next to the Lieutenant. She certainly wasn't going to ask Rory the Reaper to move her feet so she could sit next to her.

"Lady Mercury," Lt Yanagida said, immediately switching from the faint annoyance he'd had at her to a professional soldier determined to get answers to his questions. "I wanted to thank you for taking this meeting with me. I know things have been hectic over the last few days, but there are some things we need to go over about what happened at the battle of Italica. We have questions, and we believe you have the answers. Now that we better understand how highly placed you are in the Empire's religious structure, you and I will likely have many meetings like this one."

Leilei took a moment before she began to translate. While nominally her job was translate as accurately as possibly, present circumstances changed the job requirements somewhat. She needed to get through this interview without upsetting the psychotic demigoddess and prevent her own violent decapitation, and she needed to keep Yanagida's ego from taking too many hits or he might start asking questions or saying things that set off the volatile apostle. "Lady Mercury," Leilei began, "I thank you for taking the time to meet with me. The Empire of Japan and I have begun to recognize your importance and status to the people of this world and the Empire, and we apologize for the difficulties of the last few days. I would, with your consent, hope to have several meetings with your holiness to discuss the state of the Empire and its place in the world under the gods. But today, it is of vital importance that we beg your aid, many things happened during the siege of Italica, things we need to understand if we are to better fight our foes in the Empire."

"Emroy is the god of war and patron of soldiers," Rory said not bothering to sit up, merely giving a dismissive wave of her hand "it's my sacred duty to give them the courage and will to fight." Leilei twitched as she listened to rory speak and realized that she hadn't made a commitment to answer questions or do more meetings.

Leilei turned to Yanagida, and stretched the truth slightly. "I am the Apostle of Emroy, god of war. I will answer your questions if you believe they will help you be victorious."

"Good, good." Yanagida said with a smirk. "Oh, before I forget, when General Hazama discovered how important you were, he had a room prepared for you here on the base."

Leilei turned back to Rory. "General Hazama has prepared quarters for you inside the fortifications, and apologizes for placing a guest of your station among the other refugees."

Rory opened her violet eyes and turned to look at Leilei, appearing actually interested in the conversation for the first time since Leilei and the Lieutenant had entered the room. "Are my rooms in Itami's building?"

Leilei shivered. Most of the Japanese rooms she'd seen only had a single small room, and Rory was clearly expecting an Imperial suite. "She wants to know where her rooms are?"

"Wait, what did she say about Itami?" Yanagida asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

"I apologize Lieutenant. A more literal translation of what she said was; will my quarters be in this building or the building where Itami and his soldiers stay." Lelei lied, trying to hide the fact that Rory had appeared to have no interest in the soldier next to her.

"Ah," Yanagida said, "neither. We're placing her in a building we've constructed for civilians and government officials who travel to this side of the gate from Japan."

"They're giving you quarters in a new building they've made for important guests. I think he means nobles and priests." Leilei translated.

"That'll be fine." Rory said, returning her gaze to the ceiling.

"She's very grateful." Leilei told the Lieutenant.

"Now that we've concluded that," he said, "I need to know what happened in Italica."

Leilei looked at him. "Do you have a specific question you want me to ask her?"

"Not yet," Yanagida said, "I want to start off with a broad set of questions and see what she tells me. So just ask her what happened in Italica."

"Lady Mercury," Leilei translated, "He asks if you could describe the entire battle before he asks specific questions.

"The battle? What's to tell? His side won. The city is taken. A score and more of his skyships came screeching in at dawn, there firearms spilling slivers of metal like rain on the army assaulting the city. Their missiles destroying the wall and buildings. The citadel sacked. Countess Miyu lays wounded and probably dying, a 'guest' of his army. An Imperial Princess and dozen noble daughters from great families rot in the dungeon. Well, not a real princess. If I recall she's a member of the morganatic line, there was a bit of scandal when she was put into the succession, even if it's something like 12th for the throne. Still she's the daughter of the Emperor and apparently a favorite. I imagine they'll get quite a ransom for her. Or at least drive the emperor mad when he imagines her being raped by some lord of Japan."

"Lady Mercury isn't certain what to say." Lelei translated. "Your helicopters arrived and attacked the city and besieging army. They fired on the army and assaulted the city. You've rescued Countess Formal, and captured Princess Pina and her guards. She also says the princess is in line for the throne, around 12th place."

Lieutenant Yanagida sighed. Then pulled open a binder and pulled out some papers.

"Let's start at the beginning, when the convoy departed from Alnus for the city of Italica."

* * *

 _Alnus, Aprilis 15_ _th_

Kurokawa Mari sighed as she picked up another fuel container for the trip. She didn't have to. Neither Kurata nor Azuma would care if she just stood around and had them load the supplies for the trip. In fact they'd both probably prefer if she didn't carry the damnably heavy containers. But she'd feel guilty as hell if she just stood around idling and other people had to load all of the fuel, rations, spare parts, ammunition, and assorted supplies for the trip to Italica. So she carried containers. Of course she wasn't crazy enough to grab the really heavy ones. Better for everyone to just help out however she could and not try to throw out her back hoisting a container one of the boys could handle with comparative ease.

She paused for a moment after loading the container. Taking a breath and watching the refugee children play. She'd made a point to learn all their names. The blond haired boy with spikey hair was Amadeus. The other boy with the crooked nose and shaggy hair that looked to have never known the touch of a comb was Cornelius. The pigtailed girl with sad eyes was Bea, she was the oldest of the three at thirteen. Someone, probably old man Kuwahara, had found them a soccer ball and they seemed to be enjoying it. The three ran in circles kicking the ball around in a game that seemed to have no rules. It was heartwarming, seeing children who'd suffered so much take so much joy from such a simple thing as a soccer ball. She really would have to complement the Sergeant Major for the idea. Of course, he'd probably deny giving it to them to maintain his tough old man image but-

"Hey Mari can I talk to you for a second?"

"Lieutenant?" She asked turning around. Her commanding officer stood there looking, as he always did, slightly tired and worn out. Trailing behind him was his new shadow, the gothic loli priestess Rory. "You shouldn't sneak up on people." She said, trying not to give away that he'd startled her.

"Sorry." He mumbled, "I just wanted to make sure you had everything ready for the trip."

"Yes sir." She said.

"Well that's one less thing for me to worry about." Itami said, turning to depart.

"Um, Lieutenant, if I can ask… why is Rory following you around."

"I don't know." He sighed scratching the back of his head, "she showed up and yelled at me a few days ago, and now she just follows me everywhere." He turned and looked back at the girl in black.

"Hey Rory, look!" He said pointing, "There are some kids playing ball! Why don't you join them?" The violet eyed girl turned her head to look at the children, watched them a moment, then looked back at Itami, a perplexed look on her face.

"Didn't think that would work." He grumbled.

"Will she be coming to Italica?" The medic asked.

"Yeah, I'm bringing her, Leilei to translate, and Tuka. I asked the old wizard Kato to come but he said Leilei could handle everything."

"Sir," Kurokawa said, "about Tuka. I don't think she's… well."

"What do you mean?" Itami asked.

"She believes her father is still alive and living with her. If she doesn't get double rations to feed him she becomes despondent and agitated. We're going to have to take her to a real psychologist if you want a full evaluation."

"Scratch Tuka off the list then." Itami said. "We'll leave her here with the kids."

"Are you certain sir?"

"Never bring a crazy person anywhere troublesome."

"Isn't that a little harsh sir?"

"I don't think so," Itami said, looking skyward as he mulled it over. "I'm not trying to kick her out of camp, I just don't want her sitting at a negotiation table with a merchant. Last thing anyone needs is for something to upset her and possibly scare the guy we're trying to get to trust us."

"I… well it does make sense." She said, "I wish there was something we could do to help her."

"It's not like we can just throw a switch and fix her brain." Itami mused, "That kinda thing takes years. And if we can't go all the way, it's probably just better to leave her be and let her sort it out on her own."

He fell silent after his statement, just sort of milling there, watching the children play. Rory stood there, right at his side, staring up at the two of them. Likely she could tell they'd been talking about something serious, though the focus on her face was almost enough to make her laugh.

Whoosh! Mari flinched back as a soccer ball flew right in front of her eyes, smacking right into Rory's face. For a moment the ball seemed stuck on her face. Then it fell, and Rory had a look of utter befuddlement on her face. Not disgust or rage. But her wide eyes and slack jaw screamed of a profound shock, like a short nun at a penguin shoot. Mari tried to stifle a giggle. She shot a glance back at the kids. Then her laugh caught in her throat. Cornelius was shaking, not in the mock fear of common to children who'd done mischief or the usual trouble. He was afraid. Terror stricken. This was a child staring down a gunman. The boy's knees gave out and he fell to his backside, and crawled under the truck she'd been loading.

Mari turned back to look at Rory… and felt like she was staring at some dread monster of myth. Her lips had turned a villainous purple, and her eyes had become portals to some realm of pure hate and rage. The demigoddess didn't look at Mari, her abyssal gaze was locked on Cornelius. The black clad girl stalked forward. Mari stepped between them, her voice faltering.

"Now Rory it was an accident let's just take a second to calm down and- ooof!" Mari grunted as Rory shoved her. Mari wasn't the biggest woman in the JSDF, but she was healthy and fit. Yet even Rory's casual push flung her through the air. Her feet dangled in the air, unable to touch the ground, giving her a bizarre weightlessness until she crashed into the ground.

Mari scrambled to her feet, Itami was racing over to help her up, but Rory hadn't stopped her advance. She strode to the Truck, placed one hand on the side… and lifted. The truck rose, like a car jack leveraging one side, and Mari froze. She'd seen Rory against the dragon, seen her carry that axe around, but it hadn't clicked just how monstrously strong the goth girl was.

Rory hauled the boy out by his leg, and glared down at him.

"Well, _blagh, blagh, blagh_ hit someone _blagh_ face?" Mari's mastery of the local language was pretty hazy, so she wasn't certain what Rory said, but Cornelius's blubbering response transcended language.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm really, really, sorry!"

"Run along then." Rory said putting the boy down, and lowering the truck. The priestess turned to look at Mari and Itami.

"What?" The demigoddess said in Japanese. Her lips were red, and a beffudled expression settled on her face.

* * *

AN:

Next chapter we'll be back to Rory.

Characters-

Yanagida: Arguably my favorite character in gate, he's such an interesting contrast to Itami and the rest of the Japanese. I'm sad he never got much screen time.

Leilei's mistakes: Leilei is the most brilliant character in the main cast. With no contenders. Even the 2nd runners like Yanagida or Pina who we perceive as intelligent, aren't worthy to clean Leilei's mental boots. She's Archimedes and everyone else is at best merely bright. Yet she is very young and makes several logical deductions in the beginning of the chapter that are wrong. 1) She calls Yanagida overbred. She thinks that he, Itami, and other officers are from an upper class nobility, or oligarchical ruling caste. This is incorrect as both Itami, Yanagida, and even Hazama are from what we consider the middle class, but given the nature of 'civilization' in her time period this is an easy mistake to make. 2) She also makes the somewhat arrogant assumption that neither Yangida nor Rory speak enough of the other language to recognize what she's doing with the translation, despite knowing that both have at least made token efforts to learn it.

I intend to use Leilei as one of my minor POVs, and often as a contrast to Rorry. Especially in regards to information and history. Leilei is the academic, she can tell you lower Scythia was occupied and conquered by the Empire in Imperial Year 243. Rory can tell you the forests were set aflame and the winds ran wild burning both sides, and that there were no lines in the armies only wild brawls fought in smoke and ash. It's an interesting dichotomy that I don't think the show really played with.

Tuka: I plan to make Tuka more of a background character than a main member of the cast. She doesn't really bring much to the table during the anime, and I really don't see the point in having a character hanging around all the time if they aren't useful, interesting, or funny.

Kurokawa Mari: Another character who gets lost in the show. She has a really strong presence in the first couple episodes then just… sort of disappears into the background with the rest of Itami's company.

Pina: Pina is the daughter of an imperial concubine, and 10th in line for the throne. Rory's facts are slightly off as she is more or less relying on street gossip and casual conversations. Despite having been a part of the Empire for centuries (or perhaps because she's lived so long) she cares very little for the minutia of the royal family or senate.


	5. Emroy's Fifth Law

_Teaser chapter: I've been working on the Battle of Italica, and decided I wanted to rewrite several parts of it, but rather than leave you guys hanging, I decided to post a bit of teaser chapter about Rory's past. Sorry about the delay on Italica._

" _The enemy of my enemy is my enemy's enemy. No more. No less."- Laws of Emroy_

 _The Empire, 641_

For weeks the fire giant terrorized the area. It destroyed the old brewery, rending apart the ancient brick and mortar and absconding with most of the year's supply of mead. It devoured scores of cattle and goats. It slew the score of men who'd tried to chase it out of the area. The village women and children had prayed to the gods for salvation… and the Black Company had delivered. Now the monster's head decorated a stake in the village square.

The villagers had been grateful, grateful enough to open into their remaining supplies to hold a day of celebration. Which soon became a Day of Celebration, and then with a massive influx of people from the surrounding countryside and even surrounding villages, it became a _Day of Celebration_. By the third day, the feasting, dancing, and merriments still showed no signs of stopping. Most of the Company had taken to the partying with gusto. Armand Du Mainse, a disgraced knight of the Empire and the current captain of the Company, must have made love to half the eligible women in the area and showed no sign of stopping. Mimoza La Mere, an itinerant wizard from the Rondel Tribes had taken to dancing on the tables and reciting poetry. Jolly and Mercy, a pair who seemed to lack the qualities that had been given as their monikers, had taken to drink and cards. One-eye, who did only have one eye, had fallen hard for a widow and intended to leave the company and open an inn. But Rory Mercury was in no mood for revels with her companions, and had absconded from the parties almost before they began.

"All hail the conquering hero." Rory mumbled to herself, upturning an empty mug of beer. She'd secluded herself in a root cellar, the grateful innkeeper granting her all the privacy and ale she'd wanted. Normally Rory avoided places like cellars, catacombs, and caverns. Partly because they were the domain of Hardy, her most unwanted and persistent suitor. But more importantly, Earth was her bane. Of the twenty divine purviews, Earth was her weakness. Being surrounded by stone and dirt slowly began to sap her divine strength, and pull at her energy leaving her lethargic. It even slowed her regeneration to a crawl… which made getting drunk a reasonable proposition.

She tried to rise to refill her mug, but three days in the cellar was too much, she moved like an arthritic old woman trying to drag a horse. Maneuvering herself to stand over the open barrel was far more challenging than slaying the damn giant in the first place.

"What's wrong darling?" Hardy whispered through the walls. Most would only hear the creak of the foundation, the scurrying chitter of rats, the flicker of roach antenna, the whistle of air over stone, but Rory could decipher Hardy easily. "Are you upset that you're getting old?"

"I'm not old," Rory lied, "I'm barely in my ninth century. I could have centuries left before my ascension, maybe millennia." It was possible, that thousand year nonsense was shorthand for peasants. Some Demigods ascended after only a few centuries, others took a handful of millennia. Becoming a god wasn't a matter of aging; it was about coming to terms with your divinity.

"A lie," Hardy hissed, "you forsook a little too much of your mortality, drunk too deeply from your divine well to defeat the giant. You haven't long left darling."

Rory said nothing, dipping her mug into the mostly full barrel.

"My little doll, so vulnerable, so deliciously fragile. But I can keep you safe. I'll lock you away from the world forever. You'll be in a little house of glass, and I'll watch you every day. Won't that be nice darling? How happy we'll be."

"Who'd want that?" Rory said stirring the ale with her hand.

"Aren't you always happiest when others have power over you? Do you remember how we met darling? You were a prisoner beneath the Imperial Palace, drug back from their conquests in the north, locked in the deepest dungeon. An Emperor's plaything."

"Shut up."

"I fell in love with you then. How you squealed in pleasure when he took you, and how you wept when he tired of you and left you to rot. How many decades did you whisper to me from that stone cell, begging for my help? Have you forgotten how you degraded yourself for my attentions?"

"Begone Hardy. I have no need of you, and no desire for your affection."

"A lie," Hardy's voice grew faint, the goddess of earth and the underworld withdrawing, "you always crawl back to me." Though she did not leave without a parting shot. The earth shook, and Rory wobbled, her frail arms proving unable to keep her from plunging face first into the barrel.

Her feet kicked in the open air, her head and shoulders pressed against the bottom. Her days in the cellar had left her too weak to climb out or break the barrel. She gulped a mouthful of the ale and gave a mental curse. It was going to take her hours to drown, and there was no way she could drink enough of this to avoid it. Of course, even if she did die in this barrel, she'd be found eventually and revive whenever she was taken above ground. She had to give Hardy her due, as parting shots went… this was going to be incredibly humiliating.

Time is strange, when you're stuck in an ale filled barrel. She couldn't really say how long she marinated there before she was rescued.

"Rory!" Someone pulled her out of the barrel… and before she drowned. That was nice. Perhaps she could still salvage this.

"Mimoza." Rory said, biting down the urge to hack for air. The mage looked slightly panicked. Which was odd. Why bother worrying about the demigod? It wasn't like Rory could die… or at least not permanently die.

"Are you alright?" The woman's eyes were wide with concern.

"Perfectly fine." She lied. "You can put me down now. Preferably not back in the barrel."

"What happened?" The mage asked, setting her down. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to topple over.

"I had a drinking contest with death. I won if I finished off the barrel. He won if I drowned. Thanks to you I have no choice but to declare a draw."

"…that sounds… remarkably... unwise."

"There is no gravity. The world just sucks." Rory muttered, wringing her hair like a mop. The wizard looked confused.

"What's gravity?" she asked.

"A god joke, don't worry about it."

"We need to get you cleaned up," Mimoza said switching to her more serious business face, "A boy found a body down by the shore, and the captain wants you to take a look at it."

Rory scowled. The Captain often had her examine things when he was uncertain, taking advantage of the fact that there were very few things she hadn't seen or heard of.

"Let's just go," Rory said, "I'd rather go and get this resolved then clean up, rather than rush through it."

Mimoza nodded and turned to head up the stairs… the large number of stairs. Rory fired off a mental curse before _slowly_ ascending to join the transmuter.

The walk from the inn to the shore was drastically easier. Freed from the burden of being underground, her body and health rebounded. Raw divine power filled her limbs, and each step became lighter and lighter. Her grand grimcleaver, which she'd been forced to drag at the start, now twirled in her hands, light as a feather. By the time they reached the others, Mimoza was struggling to keep pace with her. Blood was in the air, and it reinvigorated her in a way no amount of rest could.

There was more than just the Company members present at the shore. Over a dozen townsfolk milled about, peering over the shoulders of the mercenaries and trying to see what was happening.

"Rory! Mimoza! Down here!" The Captain called. He was at the edge of the water, with Mercy and Jolly kneeling over something next to him.

"Captain," Mimoza said, her face somewhat flushed. Rory smirked. The woman's crush was obvious… well, to everyone but a man anyway. "What's wrong?"

"Someone's washed ashore," Mercy said shuffling to the side, "or at least what's left of him." Red chunks of meat lay on the beach, loosely in the shape of a man.

"Nasty." Rory said with a grin.

Mimoza bent closer to examine the body. The Rondel wizard might have acted like an airhead some of the time, but she had ice water blood when it came to murder and gore. Rory had rarely had such a close friend.

"Hm," the wizard said, "I've heard of dark skinned men before, from sailors who've claimed to have crossed the southern ocean. But I've never heard of one this far north. Do you suppose his ship crashed on the reef?"

"Doubt it," Mercy said, "look at his flesh, there isn't a bite mark on him. He wasn't eaten or torn apart by rocks, this fucker was butchered."

Rory reached down and picked up the man's head, the largest part of the body they'd found. His eyes were wide in sheer terror. Yet there was something else there… an energy?

"There's no bloating," the Captain said, "I'm thinking some kind of magic was used to keep the pieces fresh. What I can't figure out is why."

"Detect Magic." Mimoza cast her spell on the torso, "There's a magical residue, but I can't put a school to it."

"It isn't some wizard magic cast on him." Rory said, staring into the eyes, "you're sensing an echo of his energy. This person isn't a man; he's a demigod."

Jolly rolled back on his heels. Mercy's eyes shot wide. Mimoza shrank back in shock. Only the captain maintained his calm.

"That simplifies things. Mercy, help me fit the pieces back together and he'll regenerate."

"No," Rory said, "he won't. There's nothing left of him…just an echo."

"Can you tell what happened to him."

"He's an Orisha, from the far southern lands of Khatovar, Nagash, and Songhai. As for this fellow… Mercy has the right of it. He was butchered, methodically. Someone discovered his bane, and created a ritual murder, a process of killing him that would end him forever. A sacrilege."

"Great. Mercy, Jolly, dig a grave for him. We'll bury him, and hopefully that'll be an end of it." The captain said, rising from the sand. "Mimoza, take One-Eye and scour a few miles up and down the coast, see if you can find any more bodies or a shipwreck."

"No, we shouldn't bury him." Rory said, "His father is probably Olodumare, god of peace and the sky. Burn him, and let his ashes rise to the palace of his sire."

She turned to look at the nameless demigod's dead eyes. She did not want to become a god…but she didn't want to meet final death either. Perhaps she imagined it, but Rory Mercury thought she heard Hardy laughing.

A/N

Guest characters: I'm always leery of adding original characters on ffnet. Fanfiction is about taking all the characters we love and giving them just one more adventure, and seeing them in ways we never got to in their original sources. So, to me, having a score of OCs just kind of defeats the point. Ergo I often borrow characters from other sources when I need a role I don't think the original cast can provide. It goes without saying that I don't own them, and I'll leave a note at the bottom whenever such characters or places are introduced.

Armand Du Mainse is from the novel "The Red Duke" by C.L. Werner, and the Black Company are from their own series of novels by Glen Cook. This chapter takes place around fifty years before the canonical start of gate, and most of these characters are either dead or ancient by the time the main story rolls around, though they may pop up in Rory's memories and past story sections from time to time.


	6. Emroy's Sixth Law

_Chapter: 6_

 _"Twas brillig along the slithy toves, and I wanted to gyre and gimble in the wab, but some lad had a vorpal blade, and went all a snicker-snack, and then he ran off with my head and left my body dead. Mimsy were the borogaves, and damn the jubjub bird! Longtime his manxome foe he'd sought, and his victory set him chortling with joy through the Tulgey wood. He went galumphing back and forth till the lad lay to rest by a Tumtum tree and had only my burbling dead head with eyes a shadow for company. He did as all beamish boys would do, calling "Callooh, Callay!" and shunning the fruminous Bandersnatch did he go until he stood in uffish thought, now acquainted with my dead head. Beware the Apostle, young lad, the axe that cleaves, the claws that pierce! Twas brillig along the slithy toves, and I wanted to gyre and gimble in the wab, but some lad had my poor dead head, and buried it in his knapsack! But the mome raths outgrabe, and his wocky continued to jabber, and he couldn't leave me in his sack O'knap. So he carried me aloft, passing my poor dead head from hand to hand. One, two! One, two! And through and through. Why my body came back! He thought it had been dead but it just wanted to gyre and gimble in the wab, and had been just fine without its head. I took him in my arms, my breamish boy, and went to whiffing him through the Tulgey wood, till I had his head, my breamish boy…" Poem- Frabjuous Day, Tales of Rory Mercury._

Rory fought down a moan. She could sense the army southeast of Italica, and their…preparations for battle were driving her wild. When Itami's group had arrived earlier, it had been little more than a faint arousal. Around lunch, when they were meeting with the princess, it had advanced to a dull ache. But now the soldiers outside the walls were building to their crescendo, whipping themselves into a frenzy. As far as foreplay went it was becoming too much and her control was starting to slip.

Her face was flushed and her lips had turned purple. Her knees trembled and her breathing was becoming erratic, it was a strain to try and keep it even. She could hear the enemy war drums, pounding a rhythm so primal, so hard, so heavy, that her own life blood was desperate to match its beat. Her heart thrashing against her ribs to the tempo, her boiling blood racing to every part of her, screaming that it was time to fight, time to fuck. She needed to smell blood in the air, to feel armor crumple under her fist, she needed to be stabbed, to feel cold steel pierce her flesh and spill her raging blood, she needed –

"Rory, you all right?" Itami asked, speaking the Imperial tongue as if he'd been born to it. Frankly it was one of the most miraculous things she'd ever seen. Not powerful in scale or scope. She'd seen gods part the seas, summon earthquakes that shattered regions, cover the land in darkness, blight regions with plague. But the precision involved was incredible. Such a tiny, almost insignificant change to the world, which smoothed over weeks or months of poor translations and gave her the opportunity to talk to her fatebound. She'd have to make an offering to her father later; this was a surprisingly shrewd move for him. Of course, there was a cosmic sort of irony that now that she could communicate with Itami, their first real conversation was going to be had while she was randy enough to go for a ride on a cave troll. Her father probably found that hilariously funny.

"Ah," she bit off a moan, "yes, thank you. It's nice to, ah, speak normally."

He stood there fiddling with his helmet. The fatebond between them was pulsing erratically, shaping itself. This conversation was important she realized. A definitive stepping stone in the formation of their relationship. Whether they become friends, lovers, comrades, rivals, even enemies or some bizarre combination could very well be determined by what was said here, on the south wall of Italica.

"Let me, ah, help," she offered, stretching her hands out to take his helmet. She didn't trust her legs enough to try walking forward. Any kind of motion or vibration southward could be… awkward. He knelt down, and she shuddered as she thought of all the things he could be doing on his knees instead of attaching some decoration to his helmet.

"Ah, Itami, do you mind, if, I, ah, ask you a question?" She swallowed nervously, his hand brushed hers as he took his helmet, and it gave her such a jolt, that she almost lost control right there.

"Sure, what's on your mind?" He asked, standing back to his full height.

"Why are we, ah, here?"

"To sell dragon scales." He drawled.

"No, ah, not that, I mean, why are we, ah, fighting here? Italica is a vassal. Of the Empire. Your enemy. Why help them?"

He seemed to mull it over for a second. Maybe. Youji Itami was a hard man to read. He often wore a vacant expression, he had a glaze in his eye, and a habit of not looking directly at the people he was talking too. It made it seem like he found everything around him somewhat dull or at the very least most of his attention was a million miles away.

"I couldn't hear it before," he said, "but you have a different accent than Pina and Leilei."

"I was born farther north." She leaned back against the wall, using it to support her trembling thighs. In the distance the drums and horns were unceasing, the faint echoes of men shouting and singing war songs. She could smell naked steel on the air, polished, sharpened, and ready to be coated in blood. Flickering torches miles distant that were clear as if she stood right next to them. Her toes curled in her heeled boots.

"But, ah, Itami, you, ah, didn't answer. My question. I'm, the Apostle of Emroy. God of War. Fighting and violence, are not good, or evil, by themselves. It is, our will, our motivation, which, ah, frames conflict. Makes it right, or wrong, necessary, or foolish. So, ah, please, I must know. Please. Why are you fighting?"

He looked at her then. Not his usual ambivalent gaze, but a studying look, a judging stare. She must have been quite a sight. Her face flushed, her breathing erratic, her legs writhing…

"I guess I want the princess to see that we'd make better friends than foes."

"Practical," Rory said, "but the enemy of your enemy, is, ah, your enemy's enemy. No more, no less. The people in this, ah, city, work in shops, they provide goods, services, money, to the empire. Aren't you, ah, risking the lives. Of. Your comrades from Japan? Prolonging the war, by intervening? What about the soldiers outside the wall? They're enemies of the Empire. Leaderless men, desperate to flee Alnus. Their homes are south, but the JSDF bars their, ah, way. They cannot go east, they'll be killed by Imperial soldiers. Their only hope is west. Past Rondel, the Arrun Labyrinth, and the hundred kingdoms. A long, dangerous, ah, journey. An expensive journey. Without the money from sacking this city, they aren't likely to make it home. "

"Are you saying I should leave?" There was an edge in his tone. Slightly hard, perhaps surprised. "Let them rape, pillage, and murder everyone in the city? Burn the whole town down?"

'I want you to put my legs behind my head and fuck me like you hate me.' Rory thought, her eyes crossing as she fought off a particularly strong surge of pleasure. Thankfully she managed to keep her mouth shut until she could compose an answer.

"I'm Rory Mercury. Apostle of Emroy. Emroy the bloody handed. Hierophant of Skulls. Lord of the Brass Throne. Warriors and, ah, soldiers, are my flock. I serve the legions of the empire. The huscarls and shield bearers of the north. Sellswords, mercenaries, and thugs. The broken and, ah, desperate men outside the wall. The ten thousand sons and daughters of Japan. Shiho. Mari. Kurata. I serve you, Youji Itami. I think that your desire to, ah, fight for the people in this city is, ah, a good thing, an, ah, moral thing. But is it the _right_ thing? Will your actions here shorten the war? Prolong it? Do these people, ah, the women, children, and menfolk of Italica, ah, deserve your protection more, than the desperate souls outside the walls?"

He was silent then. Simply staring off into the distance. If it had been any other man, he'd certainly have been blowing her off. But from Itami it wasn't rudeness, and he wasn't being dismissive. He was just a laid back sort of fellow, and sometimes it took him a while to muddle through his thoughts to get to what he wanted to say.

"Maybe it isn't the smartest thing to do." Itami drawled, his gaze still on the horizon, "but I can't leave a bunch of women and kids to get slaughtered. I just don't have it in me Rory." There was bitterness in his voice. A sadness… but also iron. Itami was not a man who dreamed of glory, conquest, or bold acts of daring-do-well. He did not want to be a hero, took no joy in violence, and the last place he wanted to be was fighting in a battle. Yet, Rory felt, that there was a goodness in him. A moral compass that would not allow him to stand aside from what he perceived as wrong… even if he wanted to.

"Then we'll save them." She gasped, fighting would start soon. She could feel the echoes of boots on dirt, the feet beating a marching rhythm. "You and I, and that's all there is to it."

"…" Itami gave her a dry look but he didn't press her. He wasn't a man to interrogate others about their motives or desires. He didn't need a profession of love, an oath, or a longwinded explanation. A simple statement that she'd help was plenty. So instead of asking questions he simply pulled out a tube of some kind. When he lit it, it burned. It reeked of tobacco. Fire danced in Rory's eyes. She was no stranger to fire and smoke, and all the brutal joy that they heralded. It was the scent of the villages of Vanaheim and so many other fields and hamlets since.

"Emroy save me it's too much!" Rory whimpered as the warning horns blared on the eastern wall announcing an attack. Her thighs were squeezed tight enough to bend steel, and she couldn't stop squirming. She was panting uncontrollably now, her face and chest flushed with lust and the savage urge to rend flesh and metal. Her blood simmered, her loins ached, her legs quivered, and she couldn't stop rubbing her thighs together. "Ah, ah, hnnn, an! They, they, they, ahhnnn, were supposed to attack _**here**_ _._ "

Itami stood there awkwardly as she shivered on the ground next to him. His gaze glancing about nervously, like he wasn't sure what he should be doing. She could see other Japanese soldiers on the ramparts. The old sergeant Kuwahara was staring off into the distance deliberately not looking at her. Mari Kurokawa, the blue eyed and fair skinned Japanese woman, had covered her face with her hands and was peeking out at Rory between her fingers. Shino Kuribayashi grew red faced and stomped further down the wall, dragging a drooling Kurata with her. Only Leilei seemed unperturbed by Rory's… passionate display.

"Uh, Rory, is everything okay?" Itami asked, trying not to look at her directly.

Rory made an unintelligible sound. If the Apostle had to point out one flaw that seemed universal to Japanese men, it's that they seemed to think their dicks were fragile pieces of glass that should never be used. In any other army in the world _someone_ would have had the decency to drag her into a corner and bang her brains out until the fighting started. Yet there stood Itami, doing his damnedest not to look at her, and she had enough pride that she wasn't going to beg for it.

"Lieutenant," Leilei said, stepping forward and pulling on Itami's arm. "There's nothing you can do." Rory's eyes watered. She tried to push herself up, but her grand grimcleaver was in her hands. When had she picked it up? It was heavy. Too heavy. It needed blood. Sparks flew as the sharpened edge along the stone.

"What's wrong with her? What's going on?" The soldier asked.

"We should give her some distance. She's an Apostle. A proto-goddess. She's reacting to the dying souls nearby. They're passing through her body on the way to the overworld and its having an aphrodisiac like effect. She won't experience any release until the fighting finishes, and soon she won't be able to stop herself from killing."

Rory's gaze fixed on the young spellcaster, the girl clinging to Itami's arm. A frail, paltry, wretch of a girl. Probably mistaken for a boy half the time. Wench. And wrong. Rory didn't have any power over souls. Well, not much anyway. Certainly not enough to force every soul across miles to do anything. The girl was sprouting some sort of peasant superstition she'd probably pulled out of a book and taken as gospel.

Rory rose. Her thighs still quivered. Her hands shook. But her Grimcleaver weighed nothing. Her first step wobbled. She stretched her arm toward the bluette. She'd see how smug the girl was after Rory squeezed her neck and popped her head like a cork from a bottle of wine.

Itami shifted, pushing Leilei behind him. Rory froze, her fingers brushed against Itami's armor. It was soft. Some kind of lamellar, hard plates wrapped in fabric. Her face split into her murderous grin as her fingers began to pierce the plates. She could rip right through this third rate armor and strangle the smug little fifth rate wizard while his blood spewed down her arm and she'd- Rory wrenched her hand back. Eyes wide and wavering, she coiled her legs and hurdled into a powerful leap, fleeing her fatebound. The stone of the wall cracked asunder from the power behind her bound.

She rocketed through the sky. Toward the fighting. When she landed the earth shook, and the soldiers on both sides fell to the ground. Some with fear. Some with hope. But all in terror.

She tried to say something. But it came out as a wordless scream. She couldn't tell anyone apart. Her grimcleaver swung wide. Blood fountained across the street, it spilled over her arms and face. Warriors piled in around her. Attacking her. Fighting each other. There was no order in the ranks. No clear lines. It was a mashpit, with soldiers spilling over the wall and natives racing over the barricades to meet them.

Then the orchestra started playing, a pounding rhythm that drove her to a greater frenzy. A Japanese warmachine hovered over the wall. It flew, majestic and glorious. Then it fired. Its guns shrieked. Bullets tore into the crowd, slaughtering attacker and defender alike. They ripped into the blood soaked pavement, sending debris and dust into the air. Rory flopped to the ground, a searing pain in her stomach. Cold metal burrowed in her innards.

She tried to stand. "Where, where are my legs?" She asked Emroy, blood spilling from her mouth and ruined abdomen. "You're all fucking dead when I find my legs."

* * *

A/N

I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I had family in town, and I find it hard to write with a gaggle of relations running around. I'm not sure how well this chapter came out, I rewrote it a bunch of times. The truth is in the anime Itami and Rory's scene on the wall always feels weird to me. It's the line he says, about the JSDF being better friends than foes. It just doesn't seem a very Itami line.

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews so far. Especially Pikanet128 who commented on every chapter. I know this fic is a bit of a divergence from most Gate fics, and I could use all the support I can get.


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